


Master Plan

by Nary



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Anal Sex, Blackmail, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fingerfucking, Flashback, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Pre-Canon, Prostitution, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Petyr Baelish had been King Robert's Master of Coin for perhaps six months when he heard Edmure Tully had come to King's Landing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master Plan

_The soft footsteps woke Littlefinger from his drugged sleep. "Lysa?" he asked. It was close to the time of evening when she would change his bandages and bring him more milk of the poppy for his pain, and afterward sit with him to talk for a time, though he often had difficulty following the thread of her conversation. Sometimes, if the maester wasn't nearby, she would crawl into his bed to comb his hair and cradle his head against her chest, or reach one slim hand beneath the blankets to fondle him, always stopping if he winced or looked pale. It was all right – despite the pain, he felt a slight twitch of his cock at the thought of her approach – but it wasn't what he truly wanted..._

 _"No," said Edmure quietly, standing beside the bed and looking down on him. "It's me."_

 _This visitor was even further from what he wanted. "Get out," Littlefinger snarled. "It's your fault I'm here." This wasn't, strictly speaking, true, but it felt good to say it even so, and he liked to see Edmure's hurt puppy expression, because someone else deserved a small share of the pain he was feeling._

 _"You should have yielded, stupid," Edmure blurted. "You had to know you couldn't win against him!"_

 _Littlefinger glared, eyes fever-bright in his thin face. "Is that what you would have done, rolled over and begged for mercy? You're a coward as well as a traitor, then, with shit for honour, and I'm glad you weren't on my side."_

 _"I didn't mean…" Edmure began, his face flushed with anger and hurt._

 _"Get out!" yelled Littlefinger._

 _"I was only going to say, I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he muttered as he turned to go. Littlefinger turned his face to the wall so he wouldn't have to see the boy who had once been his closest friend leave, and dreamed of revenge._

Lord Petyr Baelish had been King Robert's Master of Coin for perhaps six months when he heard Edmure Tully had come to King's Landing. The ostensible reason for his visit, in addition to seeing his sister Lysa and her husband, was to raise certain mundane matters of bureaucracy and politics on his lord father's behalf – the necessary repairs of an old bridge across the Red Fork of the Trident, the placement of a bannerman's daughter at court as a lady-in-waiting – nothing that should have been beyond his capabilities. However, Petyr also learned through other channels that young Edmure had been spending far more of his time (and his father's coin) than he should have on gambling and drink and other pleasures in the Street of Silk. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. It was so easy.

A coin slipped into the right palm bought him the name of the whorehouse Edmure frequented most often – the Southern Stars, one of the better establishments. Petyr went there that evening, in disguise of course, and sipped his ale from his seat in the corner, and watched. Edmure, who had grown a beard since last Petyr saw him, came in already tipsy, drank for a while longer, and laughed and flirted with every girl in the place, but the one he eventually took upstairs was young and plump, with muddy-red hair. Petyr smiled, ordered another ale, and bided his time.

Eventually, Edmure staggered down the stairs alone, calling for another drink. Petyr observed that the bartender didn't provide him with change for the silver stag he dropped on the countertop, but Edmure didn't seem to notice, or care. He tossed back the mug of ale, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and headed out. Petyr waited for the red-haired girl to make her way back into the common room, and when she did, he quickly approached her. A coin pressed into her hand was enough to buy him a trip upstairs with her in his turn, and a second afforded him an unprecedented view into Edmure's inclinations, though the girl blushed to tell him what the young lordling had asked of her.

"He wanted it in my mouth, ser," she told him as she undressed, "so I did as he asked, but he wasn't truly hard – too much ale, I suppose. And then he told me to lie down on my stomach, that he wanted to take me in the… the bottom. I told him that was extra, but he said it didn't matter, he'd pay it. Then he was hard enough, all right."

"I'll have the same," said Petyr, offering her yet another coin. As he fucked the whore's round, freckled arse, he imagined he could still feel the slick of Edmure's spunk inside her, though in truth she'd probably cleaned herself up between customers. Picturing Edmure's cock – how thick it must be – loosening her up for him was enough to bring him off with a jolt and a shudder.

Before he left, he passed her one final coin, and a few words of advice. "Remember - gossiping about your customers is a good way to prevent repeat business." At least she had the good grace to blush again, and Petyr smiled as he left. She wouldn't tell anyone he'd been there. And he suspected it wouldn't be more than a week or two before he'd see Edmure again.

In fact, it was only five days hence when Lysa Arryn came with word that her brother wanted to speak to him. "Just think, love," she said between stolen kisses, "now he'll see what a great man you've become, and he'll be forced to understand how wrong he was about you." He let her tease and cajole him into agreement with something he'd already fully embraced, because it suited him to let her feel as though she had some power over him. In truth, he owed her dearly for his current position at court, though he always told himself it was his brain, not his cock, that had made him Master of Coin. He decided to let Edmure stew a little. "I can meet with him in… two days' time," he told Lysa after they'd straightened their clothes. She always wanted more from him, but it wasn't prudent to give in to her too often. "I should be able to squeeze him in before bed. Tell him to present himself at my chamber shortly past sunset."

Petyr daydreamed through his day's work, planning just what he would do when his old friend arrived, playing through every scenario he could envision and preparing what he intended to say. He wondered how much Edmure would ask him for, and how desperate he would be to get it. He rather thought it would be a lot, and very, which pleased him.

It also pleased him to make Edmure wait for a good quarter of an hour before admitting him to his quarters. Not only did it let the young man grow a little more anxious, but it gave Petyr time to splash some water on his face and change into his dressing gown and slippers. When he finally opened the door to his visitor, he greeted him expansively but without apology for the delay. "Come in, come in," he told him, ushering him into the room and shutting the door behind him.

"Petyr, I'm sorry…"

"There, no need to apologize for not coming to pay your respects sooner. I know you've been busy with affairs of state and family."

Edmure didn't blush, not exactly, but the lobes of his ears reddened the way they always used to when he was a boy and had been caught in a lie. "It's not that. I've no excuse for not paying you a visit as soon as I arrived, except that…"

"You thought I'd be too busy to see an old friend?" Petyr pretended to sound hurt, just a little, by the implication.

"I wasn't sure we were old friends any longer. Not after…"

"That?" said Petyr, waving a hand dismissively. "All in the past now. Let's concentrate on the present. What finally persuaded you to come to me?"

"I wanted to see you, of course. To see how you were faring."

"Mm-hmm. As you can see," Petyr said, gesturing casually to encompass the chamber's thick carpets, richly-coloured tapestries, and ornately-carved wooden furniture, "I'm faring quite well. Thank you for your concern, though." He waited, making Edmure squirm with the embarrassment of having to broach the more delicate matter.

"There's more," the young man began.

"Oh? News from home, perhaps? Here, how rude of me, I haven't even offered you a drink. I have a bottle of Arbor gold here that's quite fine, would you care for some?"

It would have been unlike Edmure to refuse a drink, and of course he didn't. Petyr poured for each of them, but made sure Edmure's serving was rather more generous. He took a healthy swig before proceeding. "Littlefinger, there's no good way to say this, so I'll just come out with it. I need some money."

Petyr feigned surprise. "Money? Goodness. How much?"

This time, Edmure did blush under his ruddy beard. "A hundred dragons."

It was actually less than Petyr had expected, though still sufficiently large that he'd have to do some creative accounting to hide the loss. "Did your father not send enough with you? I would not have thought Lord Hoster so stingy…."

"No, no, it's not that," Edmure said hastily. "He gave me more than enough – it should have been more than enough, I mean, but I… I was foolish, Petyr. I spent some, and gambled some of it away, and then more, trying to make up the sum I'd already lost, and… and before I knew it, it was gone. My lord father will kill me if he finds out. I hoped you could help me."

Petyr pretended to consider the matter carefully, stroking his beard. "A hundred dragons is a considerable sum, of course, but… perhaps, perhaps…."

Edmure didn't immediately lower himself to begging, at least – Petyr had to give him that. Instead, he sat stoically and waited for his former friend's decision, only showing his anxiety by the tension in his jaw and the light, quick tapping of his fingers on the arm of the chair. At last, Petyr let himself appear to relent. "I'm certain we can come to some arrangement. For old times' sake." Edmure's face lit up with hope as Petyr rose, moving away from his desk and closer to where the younger man sat. "But this isn't a gift," the Master of Coin added smoothly. "No, I think I shall make you earn it."

"Earn it? What do you mean?" He looked up at Petyr, confusion showing in every line of his face. "Is there something you need me to do?"

"You might say that," Petyr agreed, taking Edmure's hand in his. "I want you in my bed for the remainder of your stay here. There will be no more whores – well, except you," he added with a smile.

Edmure stood, pulling his hand free. "Gods, how could you even think I would do such a disgusting thing? It's degrading, it's… it's unnatural…."

Petyr shrugged, turning away. "Have it your way. I'm sure you'll be able to find someone who'll loan you the money. You won't mind spending the next few years paying it off, will you? Interest rates can be so exorbitant… Or, of course, you could always just return home and tell your father what happened to his gold."

Edmure's face passed through red and furious to pale and grim. "No, I… I can't," he said under his breath. "Please, ask anything of me but that."

"But Edmure," he said sweetly, "you don't have anything else I want."

Edmure winced slightly, and his lips pressed together into a single thin line, but finally he nodded, once, curt and humiliated. Petyr smiled, and took a single dragon from the pocket of his dressing gown, where he'd placed it ahead of time. He held it out to Edmure and said "First, you're going to suck my cock."

Edmure looked as though he might spit in his face, but he took the coin, studying it as intently as if he'd never seen one before. "I'll be here for months if I'm to earn these one at a time."

"Like any whore, you can command higher sums for more… involved services. I thought we'd begin with something simple, though." Petyr sat down on the edge of his bed and beckoned for Edmure to come closer.

Dragging his feet only slightly, the young lordling approached until he was standing in front of him. He stood there awkwardly, seeming uncertain what to do next, so Petyr instructed him. "Get down on your knees, for a start." Edmure did as he was told, looking grim as he planted a hand on either side of Petyr's hips. "Bad form," Petyr told him as he untied his robe, "to make me take it out myself, but as it's your first time I won't hold it against you." Beneath the finely-woven wool, he wore no smallclothes, so Edmure was immediately faced with the stiff swell of his cock.

"I don't know what to do," he protested weakly.

"Come, it's quite simple. You've seen it done dozens of times, no doubt, from the other side. Just wrap your lips around it, use plenty of tongue, and swallow."

Gulping nervously, Edmure bowed his head slowly over Petyr's erection. He closed his eyes before he opened his lips, and gingerly took the tip into his mouth, grimacing as he did so. Petyr drew a sharp breath, but didn't otherwise make a sound.

Edmure was tentative at first. He sucked down Petyr's shaft, carefully and deliberately. His beard was rough against Petyr's skin, but not unpleasantly so. Petyr let one hand rest lightly on Edmure's slowly-moving head, part caress and part caution. "Good," he murmured, as one might to a skittish beast, and stroked his shaggy auburn hair.

When Edmure brought his hands to Petyr's thighs and dug in his fingers a little too hard, Petyr gasped and pulled him up short, more because he didn't want to end things so soon than because of the slight pain. "Enough," he said. "Take your clothes off now." He stretched out on the bed to watch as Edmure slowly disrobed. First he tugged off his boots, then his tunic, revealing a broad chest adorned with hair the same shade as his beard. He hesitated before moving on to his breeches, and Petyr noticed with a hint of a smile that Edmure's cock was already straining at the laces. "Get on with it," he told him firmly, stroking himself lightly while he watched. Edmure turned his back to unlace himself, stepping out of breeches and smallclothes, but Petyr didn't mind the change of scenery, nor the brief delay of the ultimate revelation.

Almost endearing in his shame, Edmure tried to obscure his erection with his hands, but Petyr sat up to push them aside. Edmure's cock was as thick as he'd imagined, stocky like its master, and hard as steel. He groaned, deep in his throat, when Petyr encircled its base with his fingers. "Why Edmure," Petyr said, "it seems this isn't quite as disgusting as you claimed." He gave Edmure's cock a quick stroke, making him gasp and buck his hips once, wanton. "Perhaps I should be charging you for this."

"Shut up," Edmure snapped, as if they were still squabbling children, but he didn't push him away.

"You do know," Petyr continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "that you can buy boy-whores here as well as girls? They're a little harder to come by, perhaps somewhat more pricey, but for the… devoted connoisseur, it's more than worth it." Edmure made no reply beyond another hoarse groan as he leaned into Petyr's embrace and bore him back down onto the bed. Petyr continued to stroke him, steadily but not too vigorously, as he talked. "You can pour all the coin you want into maids' cunnies, but if what you really want is a man, then all the pussy in the world won't do you any good."

Edmure twisted beneath his hands, turning onto his side. His fingers strayed down Petyr's chest to his stomach, feeling the raised ridges of the scars there. "Are these from the duel?" he asked, his voice low and guilty.

"Your precious Brandon Stark did that, yes. Don't you remember?"

"It was a long time ago. I was young. I didn't know how bad it was."

"I nearly died, so I'd say it was bad enough."

"I should have…"

Petyr interrupted him before he could do something painful like apologize – that would drain all the fun out of this moment. "Stop talking about it and let me fuck you already." He stopped stroking him long enough to retrieve a small cut-glass bottle from the chest at his bedside. He'd paid well for it from a Dornish merchant, not knowing for certain which side of the exchange, so to speak, he would be on. "I wonder how much I should pay you for your maidenhead," he mused, tugging out the stopper and letting the slippery oil trickle over his hand. "You are a maiden, aren't you, Edmure?"

"Bugger you," Edmure snarled.

"In due time, don't worry." Petyr slid his freshly-slicked hand down Edmure's prick, drawing another moan from him, before he cupped his heavy balls and then, circling behind them, pressed a single digit against the tight pucker of his arse. "Try and relax," he advised him, rubbing around the outside ring in a slow circle before beginning to carefully force his way in. Edmure swore and reached for his own cock, jerking it roughly as Petyr penetrated him for the first time.

When he was in past his second knuckle, Petyr, feeling oddly solicitous, asked "How's that?"

Edmure's eyes burned. "Little," he told him with a hint of a smirk.

Petyr felt a renewed surge of anger. "If you want something bigger, by all means, you can have it." He pulled his finger out, rough, making Edmure gasp. Not taking the time to go slowly any longer, he gave himself a couple of quick strokes, slicking his cock lightly with the oil. He knew he couldn't simply flip Edmure over or force his knees up, he didn't have the strength – but somehow he doubted the young man would fight back. Sure enough, he turned willingly at Petyr's nudge, spreading his legs as he knelt, face down. Petyr wasted no time pressing the head of his cock against Edmure's arsehole, pushing past the tight band of his resistance until he was fully within him.

Edmure cried out, writhing beneath him, as he opened and was filled. "Oh, stop it," Petyr told him, "neither of your sisters made nearly this much fuss when I had their cherries." Edmure only muttered a curse at that and pushed back against him, arse to his hipbones.

"You like it, don't you," Petyr murmured as he stroked in and out of him. "You like being my whore. Gods, was an excuse all you needed? So you could tell yourself you didn't really want to be bent over and fucked like some back-alley slut, that someone made you do it? I can feel you begging for it, Edmure – your body betrays you."

"Couldn't…" Edmure gasped. "Not with just…unnhh… just anyone. But…I trust you, Petyr, oh, yes, fuck me…"

His words melted into the formless incoherency of pleasure, even as Petyr's hands scrabbled forward to clutch desperately his shoulders, all his quips and lies and careful plans dissolving into sweat, taut muscles, and hard, pounding thrusts into yielding flesh. "Oh, fuck you all," he groaned as the first tremulous quivers of Edmure's burgeoning climax brought him to the edge, encompassing in his ecstasy and rage Cat and Lysa and their bastard of a father, yes, and the Stark brothers too, and everyone else who'd ever wronged him. He stayed poised in that glorious moment for the length of a heartbeat, two, before his orgasm poured through him like a torrent and left both of them shuddering and limp.

As soon as he could, Petyr extricated himself and pulled his robe around his slender body. "You can have the hundred dragons," he told Edmure, carefully keeping his voice expressionless and refusing to meet his eyes. "I'll have it sent to your room by the morning. Try not to spend it all at once."

Edmure shook his head, almost playful now, something like his old self returning. "It doesn't feel right, though, just taking it from you. I really ought give you something in return, I think." His hand touched Petyr's, hesitantly. "Tomorrow night?"

"All right," Petyr reluctantly agreed, even as he secretly rejoiced at how easily Edmure, weak and willing, had been turned. Lysa was already his creature, had been since she was a girl, and now he had Edmure too. He hadn't fully decided yet whether he wanted the Tullys at his side as he rose to power, or to crush them underfoot, but either way he was more than satisfied with the outcome of this stage of his master plan.


End file.
